Ace of Diamonds
by Lockie Iceranger
Summary: Sherlock has the flat to himself for the weekend, but he gets two very surprising guests... And they have an even more surprising request.
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock sat calmly in the back of the cab, driving down the streets of London. Watson had gone away to visit his sister, and Mrs. Hudson was having a weekend in Dorset with her goddaughter, which meant that he was alone in the flat for a whole weekend.

He had been to the Science museum, mentally pointing out all of the mistakes that the curators had made, and then, surprisingly to him, he went to buy milk. He now understood why John hated doing the chore so much: it was boring. No, it was mind-numbing and Sherlock suspected that being a corpse in the morgue at St. Bart's would be more fun.

The cab pulled up outside of 221B Bakers Street and Sherlock climbed out and fumbled around in his pocket for his keys as he walked to the door. As he put the key into the lock, she paused. He turned around and saw Mycroft's familiar black limo. Parked in front of it was a black Rolls Royce. He turned back to the door and stared at the key still poking out of the lock. He took a deep breath and turned the key.

He walked slowly up the stairs. When he opened the door to the living room, he saw Mycroft sat in one of the armchairs looking straight at him. Sherlock stepped into the room.

"Hello Mother. Father," he said. He turned to see his mother sat at the kitchen table and his father stood behind her with his hand on her shoulder.

They were as he remembered from the last time he saw them: cold, hard, expressionless faces, both with grey hair and striking features. And both impeccably dressed. His mother was slim, elegant and beautiful even in her autumn years, and his father still looked as strong and powerful as he did before he fathered Mycroft and Sherlock.

"Sherlock," his father said, his voice rich and deep. But emotionless. He spoke to Sherlock as though he were talking to a wall.

"I can gather by your visit that this isn't a social call. Father, you're stood and you're tapping your foot, which means you are agitated. Mother, your nail varnish is chipped where you have been biting your nails in worry. And Mycroft, you're here. Need I say more?" Sherlock asked, moving through to the back of the kitchen to put the milk away.

"You haven't changed a bit," his mother sighed.

"Why would I?"

"Exactly. Make me some tea," she ordered. Sherlock sighed. Remembering that both Mrs. Hudson and John were away, he couldn't call out for someone to make the tea for him. He put the kettle on.

"What is the real reason you're here? It must be an emergency since you came with Mycroft," Sherlock said, walking through to the living room, sitting in the armchair opposite Mycroft, picking up his violin and tuning it.

"Do you remember seventeen years ago when I had that trouble with a business rival of mine?" his father asked.

"Ah yes. Joseph Pickwell. You exposed him for smuggling drugs and trafficking humans from Thailand in his exported and imported cargo. He got fifteen years, didn't he?" Sherlock said.

"Yes. He was released two years ago and now..." his father trailed off. Sherlock froze. He looked up from his violin to Mycroft. Never in his life had he heard his father go speechless, let alone have a wobble in his harsh voice as he spoke. He put his violin down and turned to see his father look down at the floor and his mother with her eyes clamped tightly shut.

"Mother, father...what happened?" he asked.

"What was the one thing they had at home that they truly treasured?" Mycroft said. Sherlock turned to his brother. "That they treasured more than their own lives? More than their own sons?" Mycroft asked rhetorically. He felt like he was talking to a monkey.

"Their daughter..." Sherlock trailed off. He stood up and walked over to his parents. He got down on one knee and took his mother's hands in his. "Mother, what happened?" he asked. A single tear rolled down his mother's pale, porcelain cheek.

"His men came and took Victoria Regina in the middle of the night. They dragged her kicking and screaming from her bed. They beat her in front of us before taking her away," his father bit back his own tears. He paced the living room and stood in front of the yellow, spray-painted smiley face on the wall.

"They want you to find her. And where they took her," Mycroft said. "You have my team and my resources at your disposal," he added.

"Sherlock," his mother said. Sherlock turned back to his mother. "I gave birth to a politician, a scientist and detective, and a historian and linguist. I have the full hat trick. My mother used to say that the King and Queen of Diamonds gave birth to the Aces of Clubs," she looked at Mycroft. "And of Spades," she squeezed Sherlock's hands. "And now I want you to bring me back my Ace of Diamonds," she said.

"I take it she used the cards analogy because she liked playing Bridge," Sherlock stated. His mother nodded.

"When you find Pickwell, I want him destroyed. Get Victoria Regina back, boys. Bring back our Ace of Diamonds," their father said.


	2. Chapter 2

When they left the flat, Sherlock decided to travel with Mycroft and his assistant in the limo and follow his parents in their Rolls Royce to their estate two hours away from the city. He hated travelling with Mycroft, but he could get more information out of his brother without anyone crying.

Sherlock pulled his phone from his pocket and texted John.

_Emergency. I need you to come. –SH_

He flipped his phone shut and waited for a reply. Mycroft was sat watching him coldly. His assistant was on her phone, as usual.

"What can you tell me about them taking her?" Sherlock asked.

"Not much. You'll have to ask mother and father. All I know is that she put up a fight and gave them all nasty cuts and bruises when they took her. That is one of the reasons why I gathered they beat her in front of father," Mycroft said.

"No. They beat her in front of him to show him what Pickwell is capable of. It was a warning. They'll do much worse," Sherlock stated.

"Which is why mother and father came to us," Mycroft stressed, trying not to raise his voice at his younger brother. Sherlock's phone beeped.

_Unless someone close to us is dead, I don't want to know. I haven't see Harry in a year. –John Watson._

_Worse. They have taken and are torturing someone in my family. Mycroft will send someone to pick you up. –SH._

"Send a car for John. He's at his sister's," Sherlock ordered.

"Why? He's just a little doctor. Why do you need him?" Mycroft asked.

"Because he helps me think. And I do all my best work when I think. And since I don't know any of your men and I presume that they are worse than Anderson, I want my own man on the job. Send for John," Sherlock ordered. He pulled the collar of his coat up, crossed his arms and looked out of the window, refusing to continue the discussion.

Mycroft nodded once. "Do it," he said to his assistant, who nodded without looking up from her phone.

Two hours later, they arrived at their parent's estate. His mother and father were waiting at the door. They looked cold, hard and emotionless. At a first glance no one would have suspected their youngest child and only daughter had just been kidnapped.

"They dragged her from her room?" Sherlock asked. His father nodded. "Show me," he ordered.

"You know the way. We'll wait in the hall," his father said, following Sherlock and Mycroft up the stairs.

The two brothers entered their sister's room without a moment's hesitation. Mr. and Mrs. Holmes stood at the door, watching them.

Mycroft went over to her bedside and picked up her phone on the floor where it was still charging.

"I remember her to be very careful with her things. It looks like she dropped the phone in the commotion. Look at the corners," Mycroft pointed out, showing Sherlock.

"No," their mother said. They turned and looked at her. "She always put it on the floor to charge in case she had a night terror in the middle of the night and knocked it from the table," she said.

"She had a habit of biting things. The corners of her phone, pens and pencils, anything solid," their father added.

Sherlock looked at all the hard objects in the room. Nearly every surface was covered in books that looked as though they were cared for more than a mother cared for a baby. But everything that wasn't a book was chewed. Pens, pencils and rulers lay on the desk with the ends white from being bitted constantly. Her passport, which sat on the shelf above her desk with her college textbooks, had its corners covered in bite marks. Plastic novelty bookmarks were so bitten the picture on them was almost nonexistent.

And then there were her knives. Sherlock remembered them from when he was a teenager and she was merely a toddler. She had an interest in knives that was unhealthy for a three year old, but she was incredibly careful with them she was better than an experienced chef at handling them. She had found an old Saxon dagger in the garden when she was two, and then just started finding and stealing knives from wherever she could. And she hid them around her room.

He remembered how good she was at doing tricks with switchblades without looking when he left home. He knew that a girl with this amount of knives around her room would definitely have done some damage.

"The knives," Sherlock said to Mycroft. He looked at his brother for a long minute before they both jumped into action. Mycroft emptied one of Victoria Regina's boxes of nail varnish onto the desk. A knife fell out with the files and varnishes. He put the knife back in the box and left it on the floor in the middle of the room.

Sherlock scanned the books on the shelves. He pulled five out: _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_, _Homer's Odyssey_, _Prose Edda_, _The Aeneid_ and _Game of Thrones_. Victoria Regina's favourites. Behind each of them was a knife. The took the five knives and put them in the box on the floor.

He then got on his hands and knees and looked under the bed while Mycroft opened the French doors to the balcony to look in the hanging baskets.

"I never knew she had so many. I thought she only had two," their mother whispered, looking at the box on the floor.

"It's amazing what we find out about people. Especially about Reggie. Although with just one glace Mycroft and I could tell," Sherlock said. He reached under the bed. "Here we are," he got to his feet holding up a serrated switch blade covered in blood. "It looks like she did the damage with this," he said.

"Sherlock... You might want to see this," Mycroft said. Sherlock turned and went out to the balcony to see what he was looking at.

"Father, when was the last time you had the gardeners in?" Sherlock asked.

"About a month ago. Why?" Mr. Holmes asked.

"You might want to see this," Sherlock said. his parents crossed the room and stood either side of their son's on the balcony. Mrs. Holmes clasped her hand to her mouth to control her sobs. Mycroft put his arm around her.

The grass had been partially cut. There were places where it was longer and places where it had obviously been cut only a few hours ago.

"The sick bastards. They knew about or nicknames for you. They're playing with it," Mr. Holmes said.

"I agree father. This is another warning," Sherlock said as he and his family looked over the gardens at the cut out design of a playing card. The Ace of Diamonds.


End file.
